I have always prided myself on not being “that girl”. You know the one. The girl who’s sole purpose in life is to find “the one”. No matter where she is, or what she is doing, she’s on the lookout for Mr. Right.
The success or failure of any night out on the town depends solely on whether she met a guy, and if there are no available single men present, then the evening is a bust.
I have never been that girl.
When I am out, with friends, by myself, or among my family, I am out for the purpose of enjoying myself. I go about my business, sometimes completely oblivious to the number of eligible (or otherwise) men in the room.
I’m not on the prowl, never have really been, and if a man happened to approach me, that was simply considered a nice bonus to the evening. Unless he happened to be creepy, in which case, it just added humor to the situation.
And yet, lately, I have to admit that I’m seeing more of “that girl” in me. Still not solely focused on “the hunt”, but more aware of my surroundings. It appears the “single man” radar has been turned on, and I’ll be damned if I know how to shut this thing off.
Perhaps that annoying little biological clock which I swore I wasn’t programmed with has indeed awakened in me. Maybe seeing 35 right around the corner has kick started some sort of timer. Maybe it has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with my new found confidence in this new, slimmer body of mine. I’m once again feeling flirtier, and therefore more hyper aware of potential flirtees?
Whatever the case, I find that I’m more focused on the opposite sex, on “potential talent” as my friend Traveler calls it.
When I head out now, be it to the grocery store or a night out with the girls, I’m paying attention.
And the thing that really gets to me is, I’m also aware of my disappointment when, at the end of any such outing, I come up empty. No “talent” to speak of, no potential “Mr. Right” anywhere in sight.
Even more disappointing are those rare occasions when I meet someone with all the right potential only to discover he’s wearing a ring. (I met one such gentleman this weekend in the midst of my travel disaster Thursday, and he was simply adorable, charming, flirtatious and…married).
And there’s that…I’ve never been one to notice wedding rings before. EVER. And now? One of the first things I look at.
When did I become that girl? And how do I make her go away? Cause I’m pretty sure I don’t like her invading my body. She’s not welcome and she's kind of annoying.